


The Dashing Customer

by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel



Category: Howl Series - Diana Wynne Jones, Howl's Moving Castle - Diana Wynne Jones
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, Femslash, Genderswap, Pre-Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 02:45:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2175180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel/pseuds/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Howl is a woman in need of a good hat, and she and Sophie meet rather differently. (But some things still go the same.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dashing Customer

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a piece of HMC movie-verse fanart, which genderswaps both Howl and Sophie. I thought genderswapped Howl was awesome, and it made me want to write a fic where Howl is a woman, and she and Sophie meet rather differently. I'd share a link to the picture, only I lost it.

It was during one of Bessie’s days off, when Sophie found herself helping with the customers in the hat shop instead of sitting in her little alcove making hats, that she noticed a rather peculiar customer waiting at the counter.

Sophie stared rather.

For one thing, the woman at the counter was wearing a man’s suit. It was quite a fantastical suit, in blue and silver and with long scalloped sleeves, and tailored to fit the woman’s figure, but it was undoubtedly a man’s suit, all the same.

Then there was the woman herself. She was older than Sophie, well into her twenties, with high cheekbones and elaborate blonde hair, her lips stained an unnatural cherry-red. Sophie had never seen anyone like her in all her life.

The woman raised an eyebrow at Sophie, and Sophie realised that she was staring. Blushing furiously, she hurried to the counter.

“Hello,” she stammered. “How may I help you?” Sophie felt acutely conscious of her unflattering grey gown, and the fact that her hair was pulled back in a simple braid. Next to the woman in the blue and silver suit, she felt even more dowdy than usual.

The woman smiled at Sophie, a bright, cherry-red smile, and Sophie was struck dumb by how brilliant it was, even if it was a little patronising. She had, Sophie thought, a most enchanting smile. Sophie was captivated in spite of herself.

“I’m after a hat, obviously,” the woman said, still lounging carelessly against the counter in a way that would have scandalised half of Market Chipping. “Something glamorous and dashing. If you have such a thing.” She gave Sophie a speculative look.

Sophie wasn’t sure that they had _anything_ that would appeal to this woman, but asked her to wait while she checked the back of the store, stammering a little as she spoke. She could tell at a glance that Fanny’s usual tactic of leading up to the right hat wouldn’t work this time: the woman in the blue and silver suit would simply lose interest and go somewhere else, Sophie could tell.

The woman in the blue and silver suit looked amused at Sophie’s stammer, and Sophie fled to the back of the store in a mixture of confusion and embarrassment.

There were a number of hats in Sophie’s alcove, some of them in-progress, a couple of them recently completed. Sophie cast an eye over them, hoping that one of them would look appropriate for the woman in the blue and silver suit – she knew that nothing at the front of the store would.

Her eyes alighted on a silver hat she’d only just finished. Fanny had had her doubts about that hat. The style was positively daring, so new that it hadn’t yet had time to become fashionable. It had been closely modelled after a particular kind of gentleman’s hat, modified slightly to appear more feminine. At a glance, Sophie knew that it was the perfect hat for the woman in the blue and silver suit.

Feeling inwardly thankful that she had made the hat despite Fanny’s doubts, Sophie took it down from its stand and returned to the front of the hat shop.

The woman in the blue and silver suit was staring at the nearest hat – a floral confection with a great deal of lace – in disinterest, but she looked around at the sound of Sophie returning.

“Perhaps you would care for this hat, Miss…?” Sophie let her words trail off, waiting for the name of this new, unusual customer.

“Howl,” said the woman in the blue and silver suit, gazing with interest at the hat in Sophie’s hands. “ _Wizard_ Howl, if you must know. Not ‘miss.’”

Sophie almost dropped the hat she was holding. Wizard Howl, in their shop–! And a _woman_ , at that! None of the stories had ever mentioned that Howl was _female._

But a customer was a customer, so Sophie came forward and settled the hat on Howl’s head.

On anyone else, the hat no doubt would have looked inappropriate, but somehow, it suited Howl perfectly. The daring style matched the suit she was wearing, while the silver brought out the blonde of her hair and the cool glass-green of her eyes.

Sophie held up a hand mirror so that Howl could see her reflection. Howl gazed appreciatively at the sight of the silver hat atop her head. Sophie could tell that she was pleased. She kept sending preening looks at her reflection as she turned her head this way and that, looking at the hat from different angles.

“Perfect,” Howl declared, without taking her eyes off her reflection, her smile wide and satisfied. “I’ll take it.”

It was an expensive hat, but Howl didn’t bat an eye at the price, only pulling out an embroidered coin-purse and paying without a fuss. She watched Sophie with curious eyes as Sophie wrote out the receipt, and Sophie felt more self-conscious and ordinary than ever.

All in all, Sophie was mostly relieved when Wizard Howl left the shop. She refused to acknowledge the small part of her that was irrationally disappointed.

* * *

Fanny, of course, made a fuss.

“Good heavens!” she gasped out, when she heard. “Wizard Howl, here! Are you alright?”

Sophie assured Fanny that she was fine, but Fanny continued to worry over the issue.

“They say she eats hearts, up in that castle of hers. What if she comes back?” Fanny asked.

“Then I expect she’ll buy another hat,” said Sophie calmly. “She seemed pleased enough with the one she bought today.”

Fanny wrung her hands.

“Oh, I suppose –!” But she didn’t stop talking about Howl for a good half-hour, by which time Sophie was heartily sick of the subject.

“I don’t suppose she did half the things she’s been accused of doing, anyway,” Sophie told the hat she was trimming, later. “She seemed pleasant enough, if rather vain. She probably eats exactly the same things as everybody else. The gossips don’t know what they’re talking about.”

Sophie stabbed the hat with the sewing needle rather harder than she needed to; but then, by this time she had heard enough of Howl’s terrible ways to feel almost friendly towards her, simply out of contrariness.

“Besides,” Sophie added, “I saw the suit she was wearing. I doubt anyone who wears anything that expensive will bother with a provincial hat shop like ours. I expect we’ll never see her again.”

* * *

A month later, Howl came back.

Sophie was in her alcove, working on her latest hat when she heard the shop assistant, Bessie, say uncomfortably, “Madam, I’m not sure that we have anything suitable–”

“Rubbish.” The voice that cut across Bessie’s was both impatient, and vaguely familiar. Sophie peered through the alcove, and sure enough, there was Howl. “I bought a perfectly good hat here not a month ago. If you expect me to believe–”

Sophie quietly put aside the hat she was working on, and moved to where one of her finished hats stood on a stand. She’d finished this particular hat a week ago: it was lilac, with a short, mannish brim and a silver feather sewn into the hatband. Taking it off the stand, Sophie moved to the front of the store.

Bessie was looking harried and helpless, while Howl stood with her arms folded, one shiny black shoe tapping against the floor. She was wearing a man’s suit again, although this time it was scarlet and gold.

“It’s fine, Bessie,” Sophie quickly interrupted, joining them at the counter. “Wizard Howl, perhaps this would suit?”

Sophie was pleased that her voice came out without a stammer this time.

Howl whirled around, and bestowed an approving smile on her.

“Finally, someone helpful,” said Howl. Her eyes landed on the hat, and she regarded it appraisingly. “Very well, I’ll try it on.”

So Sophie fitted the hat onto Howl’s head. Howl peered at her reflection in the nearest mirror.

“Clashes dreadfully with this particular suit, of course, but I’m sure I have something else it goes with,” Howl remarked, and turned shrewd eyes on Sophie. “What’s your name?”

Rather taken-aback, Sophie replied, “Sophie Hatter.”

“Ah,” said Howl, in a pleased voice. “So you make the hats, do you?”

“Some of them,” Sophie admitted. Howl gave her a wide smile, and Sophie felt her face heat.

“Well, you certainly have a knack for it,” Howl commented, turning back to her reflection, and taking the lilac hat off. “I’ll take the hat.”

Bessie had retreated to the back of the room as soon as she’d heard Sophie say ‘Wizard Howl,’ so Sophie rang up the purchase herself. Howl leaned against the counter as she did so.

“You know, this hat shop seems to make rather a lot of money, from what I’ve heard,” Howl observed. “So why are you wearing such terrible clothes? I barely gave you a second glance the first time I saw you.”

Sophie felt herself turn bright red with embarrassment.

“My father left behind a lot of debts,” Sophie said shortly, hoping that the curtness would discourage further uncomfortable questions.

Howl gave her a long look.

“Well, it’s a pity,” Howl said, as Sophie wrote out the receipt. “You’re reasonably pretty, you know, and a decent outfit would do wonders for you.”

Howl left the store with the smart lilac hat, leaving Sophie gaping after her.

* * *

Two days later there was a parcel left on the doorstep, with ‘Sophie Hatter’ written in scrawled cursive on the label.

“Goodness, who would be sending you parcels?” Fanny said, fluttering around Sophie as Sophie stared at the parcel, just as surprised as Fanny was. “Well, go on, open it.”

The parcel was a large one, and Sophie opened it a little warily.

It proved to contain three very well-made dresses.

“”Those must have cost a fortune!” Fanny said, examining the fabric and the stitching. “They’ve been worn before – there’s a stain on the hem of this one – but they’re still serviceable enough. Who sent them to you, I wonder?”

But Sophie was busy reading the small slip of paper that had been tucked into one of the dresses.

 _I don’t go in for dresses much these days,_ it said, in the same scrawled handwriting as the parcel’s label, _and I thought you’d have more use for these than I do. Enjoy._

The signature at the bottom of the card had far too many curlicues to be easily read, but Sophie just made out the name, ‘Howl Pendragon.’

She looked up at Fanny, who was still exclaiming over the quality of the dresses.

 _If she finds out who sent them_ , Sophie thought, _she won’t let me wear them_. The thought prompted a flare of unaccustomed jealousy, which Sophie was immediately ashamed of. She knew that Fanny would only try and keep Sophie from the dresses out of a sense of concern for Sophie’s wellbeing, but the truth was that Sophie was sick of the dowdy dresses she usually wore. The dresses Howl had sent her were, in their own way, just as fancy as the suits Howl wore: they had flounces and lace and golden embroidery, and Sophie found that she desperately wanted to keep them.

So she shoved Howl’s note into her pocket, just as Fanny held one of the dresses, a lovely spring-green muslin, up to Sophie’s face.

“It’s just your colour, too,” Fanny observed. “Was there a note?”

“No note,” Sophie said quickly. “I suppose someone felt like being mysterious.”

“Well, well,” said Fanny. “Perhaps you have an admirer!”

Sophie managed to disabuse Fanny of this notion, although with difficulty; Fanny seemed charmed by the idea of Sophie having a secret suitor.

Later, when Fanny had bustled off to visit the merchants, Sophie tried on the spring-green muslin, and stood in front of the mirror to survey her reflection. The dress was a little big around the bust and hips, but the difference between the spring-green muslin and Sophie’s usual dresses was remarkable. Sophie’s complexion, usually so sallow, became a pleasant ivory, while her hair looked red-gold instead of the reddish straw-colour it usually did.

 _Why_ , Sophie marvelled, _I actually look pretty!_

She could see what Howl meant about a decent dress, now, and felt a sudden rush of gratitude towards the wizard. No doubt Howl had acted out of pity, but nonetheless, Sophie appreciated the gesture a great deal.

The next day, instead of wearing one of her usual gowns, Sophie chose to wear one of the dresses Howl had sent her. She didn’t wear the green muslin – it was too delicate for everyday wear – but picked out one of the others, a lavender dress made from a sturdy cotton weave.

Usually no one particularly noticed Sophie as she worked in the store, but the lavender dress seemed to make a difference, because suddenly the customers _saw_ Sophie, asking her opinion instead of always turning to Bessie for advice. It was a little overwhelming, but gratifying all the same.

 _Who knew that a dress could make such a difference?_ Sophie mused, as she got ready for bed that night. She resolved to offer Howl a discount on the next hat the wizard bought. It seemed only fair, after such kindness.

To Sophie’s surprise, Howl soon became a regular customer, stopping by every month or two for a new hat. Sometimes she was in a hurry or a dramatic, surly mood, barely staying long enough to buy a hat; other days, she stayed long enough to chat a little, inquiring about the latest gossip with a faintly amused air. Regardless, she always asked for Sophie, disdaining Bessie’s help.

The first time that Howl stopped in and saw Sophie wearing one of her dresses, Howl gave Sophie a long, appraising look, and smiled.

“I thought that would suit you,” she remarked, and immediately went on to asking about hats. She made no other mention of her act of charity, and after the first couple of her visits to the store, Sophie stopped feeling awkward about it. She got used to dealing with Howl’s sometimes-abrupt ways, and began to feel quite friendly towards the other woman.

“Do you really eat hearts?” Sophie dared to ask her, one day. The question had been bothering Sophie for some time.

Howl paused in the act of trying on Sophie’s latest hat in order to give her an utterly bemused look.

“Is that what they say in Market Chipping? That I eat hearts?”

Sophie nodded shamefacedly, flushing in embarrassment. In the face of Howl’s bemusement, the notion seemed suddenly very silly.

Howl threw her head back and laughed, which while a lovely sight, made Sophie feel even more embarrassed.

“I suppose they’re speaking metaphorically,” Howl said, grinning, although Sophie wasn’t sure about that. “In that case, my dear Sophie, I suppose that I do.”

“You metaphorically eat girl’s hearts?” Sophie ventured, quite confused. Howl grinned even further, cherry-red mouth curving in amusement at Sophie’s bewilderment. She condescended to explain.

“Perhaps it would make more sense to say that I _break_ hearts,” Howl explained kindly, and turned back to the mirror.

“Oh,” said Sophie. She felt quite foolish for taking the rumour so literally. Then she paused, thinking that through. “You – seduce _girls_ , then?”

Howl’s face took on a proud, vain look.

“Renowned for it,” she replied, and cast a sly glance in Sophie’s direction. “Why? Falling for my charms?”

Sophie jumped.

“Certainly not,” she said briskly, although her heart was beating very fast.

Howl only laughed, and turned to face Sophie. She looked quite glamorous, Sophie thought despairingly.

“What do you think?” Howl asked, smiling her most charming smile. “Does it suit me?”

Sophie didn’t think that Howl’s vanity needed encouragement, but she _was_ trying to sell the hat, after all. So she responded dampingly, “As well as most things do, I daresay.”

Howl looked pleased at that, and turned back to the mirror.

“I’ll buy it, then. How much is it?”

Sophie told her. Howl made a face.

“I suppose Michael will complain. Still, it’s my money, and I shall spend it as I like,” said Howl.

“Michael?” Sophie asked.

“My apprentice,” replied Howl, taking the hat off. “Quite passable, I suppose, although I’d swear I had a better handle on magic at that age, myself.”

“Perhaps it’s his teacher,” Sophie said dryly; she knew Howl well enough, by now, to guess that Howl made an inconsistent teacher. Usually she wouldn’t have been so bold with a customer – or anyone, for that matter – but there was something about Howl that brought out Sophie’s sense of assertiveness.

“Rude,” Howl said reproachfully. “Why do I put up with you, Sophie?”

“No one else makes hats like I do?” Sophie suggested, although to tell the truth, she wasn’t sure why Howl tolerated her so well.

“That’s probably it,” Howl agreed, getting out her coin-purse and paying for the hat. “You know, you should let me buy you a drink sometime.” She flashed her best smile at Sophie.

Sophie didn’t let on that she was affected.

“I doubt that would be a good idea,” she replied. Howl pouted appealingly, but Sophie only gave her a stern look.

“Spoilsport,” said Howl. “I hate sensible people.”

She smiled at Sophie before she left, however, and Sophie knew that there were no hard feelings.

“How do you _talk_ to her so easily?” Bessie asked once, sounding amazed.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Sophie asked.

“Well, she’s a _wizard_ , isn’t she? Besides, you’re shy enough of everyone else,” said Bessie.

This was true, and Sophie didn’t understand it any better than Bessie did.

“I suppose she just doesn’t bother me,” Sophie said vaguely. Bessie shook her head, wonderingly.

Fanny continued to worry about having such a terrible person as Wizard Howl in the shop, but even she had to admit that Howl was an acceptable customer; she was never outright rude, and never complained about the price of their hats, the way that some customers did.

Bessie left to be married shortly before May Day, which left Sophie feeling alone and isolated in the shop. Fortunately, the hat shop would be closed on May Day, and Sophie resolved to go visit her sister Lettie, who was an apprentice at Cesari’s cake shop.

Sophie had been planning to visit Lettie for some time, but had found that there always seemed to be some reason not to go – either she couldn’t find the time, or the energy, or the distance to Market Square seemed far too far away. Sophie had always thought of herself as strong-minded, but now she was beginning to see that she could only bring herself to do some things when she had no excuses left.

So, on May Day, Sophie put on the spring-green muslin and went out into the streets. They were swelled with crowds of people, all dressed in their best clothes – bright colours, trailing sleeves, boots so highly polished that they shone. Sophie had to creep close to the houses to avoid being trodden on by the shiny boots and jabbed by elbows in silk sleeves. She began to quite regret coming out to visit Lettie, after all. She hadn’t imagined that there would be so many people about. It was quite daunting, after the quiet of the hat shop.

And then, out of nowhere, Sophie felt someone link their arm with hers, and looked up into the smiling face of Howl. They were close enough that Sophie could smell the perfume Howl wore. Up close, the wizard smelled of hyacinths.

“Sophie!” said Howl. She was wearing the blue and silver suit today along with the silver hat Sophie had made, as well as a brilliant smile. Sophie thought that she looked lovelier than ever. “I see you’ve actually ventured out of the hat shop, for once.”

The laughing way that Howl said that made Sophie feel a little ashamed for being so discomfited by the crowd around them. It was clear from the confident, swaggering way that Howl walked that she, at least, found nothing to be afraid of. Somehow, this realisation had Sophie straightening her posture, and trying to match Howl’s swift stride. It was easier than she expected.

“You must let me buy you a drink,” Howl said, and before Sophie could answer, added, “Really, I insist.”

Sophie rather liked the idea, even though she knew, instinctively, that it was a bad one. Fortunately, she had a good reason to disagree with it.

“I’m on my way to visit my sister,” she said firmly. “And I shan’t be dissuaded, thank you very much. It’s been far too long since I last saw her.”

Howl looked interested.

“Then by all means, let us visit her,” Howl decided. Sophie opened her mouth to say that her words hadn’t been an invitation, but Howl went on, “Who am I to keep a pretty lady from her sister?” She glanced around the crowded square. “Where are we going?”

Howl seemed so genuinely enthused by the idea that Sophie’s protests died on her lips.

“Cesari’s cake shop,” she said instead. Howl immediately brightened.

“They’re the place that does those wonderful cream cakes, aren’t they?” she asked, and hurried her stride. Sophie had to jog slightly to keep up. “I knw what I shall be doing while you talk to your sister, then.”

Inside Cesari’s was, if possible, even more packed and noisy than the square, but Howl elbowed her way inside, pulling Sophie along with her. People moved out of their way as they noticed the wizard in her blue and silver suit, casting astonished and wary glances at both her and Sophie. Sophie decided to worry about that later.

Sophie located Lettie in the line of assistants working at the counter. After a moment Lettie looked up and saw her. She looked shaken for a moment. Then she smiled, and shouted, “Sophie!”

“Can I talk to you?” Sophie yelled. “Somewhere?”

“Just a moment!” Lettie screamed back.

“Is that your sister?” Sophie glanced at Howl to see her staring raptly. “What a vision!”

Sophie elbowed her in the side.

“No seducing my sister,” she said sternly. Howl cast her an appealing look, but Sophie stood firm. Howl pouted.

“Oh, if I must,” she complained.

Lettie, meanwhile, had whispered something to the girl next to her, and worked her way to the end of the counter. Now she beckoned Sophie over, so Sophie unwound her arm from Howl’s, and moved forward. Lettie held up a flap at the end of the counter, so Sophie edged through the flap and behind the counter. Lettie immediately seized her wrist and dragged her into the back of the shop, into a room surrounded by racks of cakes.

Lettie pulled forward two stools.

“Sit down,” she todl Sophie, and handed her a cream cake out of one of the nearest cake racks. “You may need this.”

Sophie sank onto the stool, feeling relieved and a little tearful at seeing her sister again.

“Oh, Lettie, I am so glad to see you!”

“Yes, and I’m glad you’re sitting down,” said Lettie. “You see, I’m not Lettie. I’m Martha.”

“ _What?_ ” Sophie stared at the girl sitting on the stool opposite hers. The girl looked just like Lettie. She was wearing Lettie’s second-best blue dress, and had Lettie’s dark hair and blue eyes.

“I am Martha,” said Sophie’s sister. “Who did you catch cutting up Lettie’s silk drawers? _I_ never told Lettie that. Did you?”

“No,” said Sophie, quite stunned. The girl in front of her still looked like Lettie, but now that Sophie looked, she had Martha’s tilt to her head and Martha’s mannerisms. Sophie could see that it was Martha, now, but what she couldn’t see was _why_.

Martha was willing to explain, however, and did so. Martha might have been placed as an apprentice in witchcraft, but it was Lettie who wanted to learn magic. Martha, meanwhile, wanted to get married and have ten children, rather than become a witch. So she and Lettie had switched places, using a spell to make each resemble the other. It had been quite simple, really.

“We’re fine now,” said Martha. “But we both feel bad about you. You’re far too clever and nice to be stuck in that shop for the rest of your life. We talked about it, but we couldn’t see what to do.”

“I’m all right,” Sophie protested. The words ‘just a bit dull,’ hovered on her lips, but Sophie didn’t speak them. Since Bessie had left, Sophie spent a lot more time in the shop dealing with customers. And then there was Howl. Howl was the very furthest thing from dull. And there were worse things to do than make hats.

Martha cast Sophie a keen look, as though trying to ascertain the truth of her words. Sophie must have looked convincing, because Martha sighed, and relaxed a little.

“Well, you look better than I expected, at any rate,” Martha conceded. “That’s a simply ravishing dress you’re wearing –  where did you get it? I know Mother didn’t get it for you; she’d never spend the money on you. And who was the woman who came in with you? She seemed rather odd.”

Sophie bristled a little at that, even though, by Market Chipping standards, it was quite true.

“That was Wizard Howl,” Sophie said, trying to sound casual about the entire thing.

Martha sat bolt upright on her stool, and looked astonished.

“Wizard Howl!” she exclaimed. “ _Sophie!_ Everyone says she eats hearts!”

“Only figuratively,” said Sophie. “She’s something of a rake, I think.”

Martha looked astonished.

“And you’re _friends_ with her?” Martha asked, as though she couldn’t believe it.

Sophie had to stop and consider the question. While Howl was a valued customer, and Sophie chatted with all her customers who were so inclined, Sophie had to admit that customers didn’t usually offer to buy you a drink, or walk with you to visit your sister. Then there was the matter of the dresses.

“I think so,” said Sophie, realising that it was true as she said it. “She’s one of the shop’s best customers, but I suppose she’s a friend, too.”

Martha deflated.

“Here I was, worrying about you spending all your time slaving away in the shop, and here you are, wearing a nicer dress than I am, and hanging around with Wizard Howl, of all people! Well, if she’s kind to you, I don’t care what people say about her,” said Martha.

“But,” she added, “do you really intend to spend the rest of your life working in a hat shop? I’ve seen Mother, Sophie, and heard the talk. She’s off in a hired carriage and new clothes on your earnings, visiting all the mansions down the valley! They’re saying she’s going to buy that big place down at Vale End and set up in style. And where are you?”

“Well, Fanny’s entitled to some pleasure after all her hard work bringing us up,” Sophie argued reasonably. “I suppose I’ll inherit the shop.”

There were worse fates, to be sure. But Martha didn’t seem to think so.

“What a fate!” she exclaimed. “Listen–”

But at that point they were interrupted by one of the other apprentices, saying that the new baking was just up. Martha sprang up in a hurry, and started dragging out the nearest cake rack. Sophie helped.

After that Martha was busy helping in the shop, so Sophie yelled a goodbye and slipped away into the bustle, feeling that Martha was busy enough  as it was, and it didn’t seem right to take up any more of Martha’s time.

Sophie looked around, wondering if Howl was still somewhere in the crowd. After a moment, she spotted the wizard sitting at a table by herself, eating a cream cake. Telling herself that Howl probably wouldn’t mind, Sophie took a seat at Howl’s table.

Howl immediately pushed a paper bag in her direction.

“I bought you a cream cake,” she said without preamble, with a charming smile. “How is your sister?”

Sophie didn’t think that she could possibly begin to explain the situation that Martha and Lettie had set up.

“Busy,” she responded instead. “She seems to think I’m being exploited.”

Sophie wasn’t sure that she believed it, but Howl seemed to take the idea seriously. She put down the cake she was eating, and sent Sophie a thoughtful look.

“She’s probably not wrong, you know,” Howl said slowly. “On an apprentice’s wage, you should be able to afford decent dresses of your own. How much are you paid?”

Sophie was rather embarrassed to admit that she wasn’t being paid anything.

“I’m not,” she told Howl. Howl looked very surprised.

“But Sophie – you’re the only reason that shop does so well,” she said. “You _do_ know that, don’t you?”

Sophie supposed that she had known, in a vague, barely-there sort of way, but hearing someone say so outright nonetheless came as a kind of a revelation. She stared at Howl.

“Listen,” said Howl, “if it weren’t for you, the hat shop would be a total loss. You’re the only thing keeping it going, and the woman who owns the store is making a great deal of money off your efforts. You really didn’t know?”

Sophie wanted to defend Fanny, but considering that both Martha and Howl – and apparently Lettie – seemed to think that Fanny was exploiting her, Sophie began to think that perhaps they were right. She needed to be alone to think.

“I think perhaps that I should be going,” said Sophie, getting to her feet, and picking up the paper bag with the cream cake.

“Sophie–”

“Thank you for the cake,” Sophie added politely, and slipped away into the crowd before Howl had finished rising to her feet.

* * *

Sophie thought about what her sister and Howl had said, very seriously. Maybe they were right, and she was being exploited. Howl had certainly seemed very surprised to hear that Sophie didn’t earn a wage for her efforts.

Sophie didn’t have a chance to do anything about it, however, because shortly after May Day, the grandest customer the store had ever seen sailed in. The lady’s face was carefully beautiful, and everything about her – from her sable wrap to the diamonds winking all over her black dress to the hat she was wearing, with its genuine ostrich plumes dyed in a variety of colours – said _wealth_. In her own way, she was just as glamorous as Howl. Sophie quite wondered what she was doing there.

“Miss Hatter?” asked the lady. Her voice was musical, but commanding.

“Yes,” said Sophie. There was a man standing behind the lady, staring at Sophie with horror. Sophie wondered what was going on.

“I hear you sell the most heavenly hats,” said the lady. “Show me.”

So Sophie went and got out hats, starting with the wrongest first, as usual. The lady rejected each of them, even the modish black and white hat she’d just completed, which was the only one glamorous and feminine enough to potentially interest this lady.

“This one doesn’t do anything for anybody,” said the lady contemptuously. “You’re wasting my time, Miss Hatter.”

Sophie wasn’t in the best mood as it was, and the lady’s response to the hats pricked her temper.

“Only because you came in and asked for hats,” said Sophie pertly. “This is only a small shop in a small town, madam. Why did you bother to come in?”

Behind the lady, the man accompanying her gasped and looked more horrified than ever.

“I always bother when someone tries to set themselves up against the Witch of the Waste,” said the lady coolly. “I’ve heard of you, Miss Hatter, and I don’t care for your competition or your attitude. I came to put a stop to you. There.” She flung a hand in Sophie’s direction, towards her face.

“You mean you’re the Witch of the Waste?” Sophie asked, her voice strangely wavering.

“I am,” said the lady. “And let that teach you to meddle with things that belong to me.”

“I don’t think I did. There must be some mistake,” Sophie said. Her voice still sounded strange.

“No mistake, Miss Hatter.” The Witch of the Waste swept towards the door, only pausing to say one more thing. “By the way, you won’t be able to tell anyone you’re under a spell.”

She left without another word.

Sophie put her hands to her face, wondering why she felt peculiar all of a sudden. Her hands met with soft, leathery wrinkles. Sophie looked at her hands. They were wrinkled too.

Sophie hobbled to the mirror, and stared into it. The reflection of a gaunt old woman stared back, with rather tragic eyes.

For a long moment Sophie could only stare. Everything seemed to have gone calm and remote.

Then it occurred to her that she knew at least one magic-user, a wizard of some renown. If the Witch of the Waste had cursed her, then perhaps Howl could undo the curse. All Sophie had to do was find where in the moors surrounding the town Howl’s moving castle had ended up.

Sophie hobbled over to the shop door and turned the sign to ‘closed’. Looking down at the lavender dress she was wearing, with its flounces and lace, Sophie reflected that it was quite unsuitable for an old woman such as she now appeared to be. She shuffled over into the house, where she changed into her old grey dress, and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders. That was better. Before she left, Sophie collected her purse and a parcel of bread and cheese.

Then she let herself out of the house – hiding the key in its usual place – and set out for the moors, determined to find Howl’s moving castle.

* * *

By the time that Sophie found the castle night was coming on, and the wind was blowing sharper. Sophie’s joints ached, and what she longed for, more than anything, was a comfortable chair near a warm fire. She told herself that Howl was bound to have one, and hobbled grimly on.

Eventually Sophie found the castle, a tall, lopsided shape rumbling across the moor. How it hadn’t collapsed in on itself, Sophie didn’t know. It looked like a good wind would knock it over.

Chasing the castle down took more effort than Sophie expected, but finally Sophie banged on the door until it opened inwards, and threw herself inside before the castle could move on.

After a moment Sophie realised that there was a tall boy standing in front of her, apparently trying to shut the door on her.

“Don’t you have the impudence to shut the door on me, my boy!” Sophie snapped, getting to her feet.

“I wasn’t, but you’re keeping the door open,” the boy protested. Sophie rather thought that he was Howl’s apprentice. “What do you want?”

Sophie ignored him, pushing him aside and diving for the comfortable chair she could see near the small fireplace. She sighed blissfully as she settled into it. The warmth soothed her aches, and the chair supported her back.

“Tell Howl,” Sophie said to the boy, “that this castle’s going to come down around her ears if it travels much further.”

“The castle’s bespelled to hold together,” said the boy patiently. He didn’t seem at all sure what to do about Sophie invading the castle. _Too polite_ , thought Sophie. “But I’m afraid Howl’s not here at the moment.”

This was bad news for Sophie, who had hoped to get this business of the curse sorted out as soon as possible.

“When will she be back?” Sophie asked worriedly.

“Probably not until tomorrow now,” said Michael. “What do you want? Can I help you instead? I’m Howl’s apprentice, Michael.”

“I know who you are,” Sophie told him, closing her eyes. The chair was so wonderfully warm. “Only Howl can help me. I’ll wait, if you don’t mind.”

“That will probably mean waiting all night,” Michael protested; it was clear from his tone of voice that Michael _did_ mind.

Sophie cracked an eye open and glared at him.

“Young man, Howl has been buying my best hats for a long time. I doubt very much that she will mind if I borrow this chair until she gets home.”

With that, Sophie shut her eye again, and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

In the middle of the night Sophie was woken by the sound of someone snoring. She jumped awake, irritated to discover that she was the one who had been snoring. The fire had died down while Sophie was asleep, and even wrapped in her shawl Sophie felt cold and achy. Still, there was a basket of logs nearby, and so Sophie got creakily to her feet, and put a couple of extra logs on the fire.

Staring into the blueish-green flames, Sophie fancied that she could make out a face. Feeling dreamily half-asleep, Sophie began to talk to it.

“It’s far too bad of Howl to be away when I need her help,” said Sophie to the fire. “I suppose she’s off gadding with one of her young ladies.” The thought made Sophie feel irritable and discontented.

“Probably,” said a voice. It came from the fire. “She’s usually inconvenient that way.”

“What are you?” Sophie asked the fire cautiously.

“A fire demon,” answered the fire. “I’m bound to this hearth by contract. I can’t move from this spot.” Then it added, “I can see that you’re under a spell.”

Hope rose up in Sophie’s heart.

“You see!” she exclaimed. “Can you take it off?”

The fire demon eyed Sophie appraisingly.

“It’s a strong spell,” it said finally. “It feels like one of the Witch of the Waste’s to me.”

“It is,” said Sophie.

“But it seems more than that,” the fire continued. “I detect two layers. And of course you won’t be able to tell anyone about it unless they know already. I shall have to study it,” the demon concluded.

“How long will that take?” Sophie asked.

“It may take a while,” said the demon. “How about making a bargain with me? I’ll break your spell if you agree to break this contact I’m under.”

Sophie regarded the demon warily. Everything she had ever read pointed to the extreme danger of making deals with demons. Sophie wondered what Howl was doing, keeping such a creature in her house. Perhaps some of the rumours about her were true, after all.

“I don’t think so,” Sophie said firmly. “You’re not being quite honest, are you?”

“Not quite,” the demon admitted. “But do you want to stay like that until you die? That spell has shortened your life by about sixty years, if I am any judge of such things.”

“I’d rather have Howl help me,” Sophie told the demon resolutely. Making a bargain with a demon seemed like a bad idea, indeed.

“Howl!” The fire demon flared up indignantly. “She’d quite heartless, you know, and pretty useless at most things. In fact,” the demon hissed venomously, “she’s too wrapped up in herself to see beyond her own nose most of the time.”

Sophie thought that this was a little unfair, even though it was probably true. She’d seen Howl’s vanity for herself, and it was Howl who had admitted to being a heart-breaker. And yet… someone who was completely heartless wouldn’t have taken pity on Sophie and sent her those dresses.

Sophie made up her mind to refuse the demon.

“Howl,” said Sophie stiffly, “is my _friend_ , and I trust her to help me, thank you very much. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be getting back to sleep.”

She hobbled back to the comfortable chair, and settled into it. The fire demon flickered contemplatively, but said no more. Sophie slipped back into sleep.

The next morning Michael was polite enough to offer Sophie breakfast, although he added that there was only bread and cheese.

“But there’s a while basket of eggs in there!” Sophie objected, feeling ravenously hungry. “And isn’t that bacon? What about a hot drink as well? Where’s your kettle?”

“There isn’t one,” said Michael. “Howl’s the only one who can cook.”

“I can cook,” said Sophie. “Unhook that frying pan and I’ll show you.”

“You don’t understand,” said Michael, trying to sound patient, and failing. He sounded just like Howl in one of her sulky moods. The thought made Sophie wonder uneasily when Howl would get back. “It’s Calcifer, the fire demon. She won’t bend her head down to be cooked on for anyone but Howl.”

Sophie looked at the fire demon.

“I refuse to be exploited,” she said.

“You mean,” said Sophie to Michael, “that you have to do without even a hot drink unless Howl’s here?”

This seemed dreadful to Sophie. She grabbed the pan from Michael and threatened Calcifer relentlessly until she gave in, and bent down so that Sophie could cook on her. Michael stared in awe and some alarm as Sophie forced Calcifer to cook breakfast, with threats of cold water if she didn’t comply.

“Oh, hello, Howl,” Michael said helplessly.

Sophie hurriedly turned around at that, in time to see Howl straighten up from where she had been leaning a guitar against the wall. The sight of the wizard sent a wave of relief through Sophie.

“Who on earth are you?” said Howl, without looking at Sophie properly. Her eyes were on Calcifer, resentfully cooking breakfast. “And how did you make Calcifer bend down?”

“She bullied me!” Calcifer said sullenly, in a muffled voice from under the frying pan.

“Not many people can do that,” said Howl thoughtfully. She turned to look at Sophie properly, and the moment that Sophie had dreaded, came: Howl got a good look at her face, squinted a little, and said incredulously: “ _Sophie?_ ”

Sophie burst into tears. Bawled, really. Howl sent her an alarmed glance, before looking to her apprentice, as though she expected him to do something about Sophie’s tears.

“Michael, make her stop,” said Howl. Michael sent Sophie a dubious look that was no less alarmed than Howl’s.

“I don’t think I can,” said Michael.

“You’re useless,” Howl declared disgustedly. She eyed Sophie warily. Sophie, meanwhile, was blowing her nose and doing her best to stop crying, quite mortified at her lack of composure.

“Sophie,” Howl asked carefully, “would you like to explain why you’re currently an old woman?”

Sophie found that she was quite unable to answer. Instead, she found herself commenting on the untidiness of the room.

“This place is a shambles, Howl. When was the last time you cleaned it?”

Howl looked pained and exasperated.

“Really, Sophie,” she said. “Must you?” She looked to the fire. “Calcifer?”

“It feels like the Witch of the Waste’s work to me,” the  demon called from the fireplace.

Just for a moment, Howl’s entire demeanour changed. Sophie saw the glint in Howl’s eyes, and knew that Howl was _furious_. Then Howl forced herself to relax, and slipped her hands into her pockets.

“Well, that explains the ‘who,’” she said casually, “but not the ‘why.’ Can you explain, or is that forbidden by the spell, too?”

Sophie shook her head; she had no idea why the Witch of the Waste had cursed her.

Howl sighed in annoyance.

“Well, that complicates things,” she said. “What did I ever see in that woman?”

Michael’s jaw dropped at the same moment as Sophie’s.

“ _You jilted the Witch of the Waste?”_ Michael sounded deeply horrified. Sophie could relate.

Howl looked injured and noble.

“That is not the way to put it. I admit I thought I was very fond of her for a time. She is in some ways a very sad lady, very unloved. Everyone in Ingary is scared stiff of her.”

Sophie exchanged a speaking glance with Michael.

“So that’s why she’s after your head,” the apprentice concluded glumly.

Howl huffed irritably.

“Mind your own business, Michael. Besides, as long as I stay out of her way, I’ll be fine.” Her eyes slid back to Sophie, and she looked calculating. “I’m more concerned with why she cursed Sophie to be old. You’re sure she didn’t say anything, Sophie?”

Sophie found that this time, she could answer the question. She thought that it was probably because the question wasn’t about the curse itself, but about the Witch of the Waste.

“She said that I meddled with something that belonged to her,” Sophie said, just as bewildered by this as she had been when the Witch of the Waste made the accusation. “She said that she didn’t like my competition or my attitude. But I don’t see that I could have meddled with anything of hers.”

Just for a moment, Howl looked stricken. She covered it quickly, but Sophie noticed. She narrowed her eyes at Howl.

“You know something,” she said accusingly.

Howl opened her mouth to protest, but met Sophie’s eyes. She sagged gently, like a tree bending in the wind.

“It’s possible – not that I’m certain, mind – that the Witch of the Waste may have gotten the impression that I was attempting to court you,” Howl said, with a mixture of injured innocence and annoyance. “She’s a rather… _possessive_ woman.”

Sophie stared at Howl.

“Are you telling me,” Sophie demanded, “that I was cursed because your former lover believed that we–”

“Were courting? It’s possible. Not that this is my fault,” Howl added quickly. “I had no way of knowing that she might curse you simply because we were friendly.”

Sophie took a deep breath. There was no point in slapping Howl, she told herself. It wouldn’t change anything.

“And it never occurred to you that courting the Witch of the Waste in the first place was playing with fire?” she snapped.

“Sophie.” Howl sounded vaguely pained. “I have a fire demon in my house. Playing with fire has never scared me.”

Sophie was about to turn away from Howl in a huff, but Howl grabbed her hands.

“But I’ll do my best to fix this,” Howl added grandly. “After all, I can’t have her going around cursing everyone I talk to.”

“When?” Sophie asked.

“As soon as I can,” Howl said vaguely. It wasn’t a very reassuring answer.

“All right,” said Sophie. “But I’m holding you to your promise, Howl.”

Howl grimaced at that, as Calcifer cackled. Howl turned to the fire demon with a faint air of relief.

“Calcifer doesn’t like anyone but me to cook on her,” she said, changing the subject. “Pass me two more slices of bacon and six eggs, please.”

Sophie did so, and wondered how long she’d be staying with Howl.

She didn’t like being old, but the idea of living with a genuine wizard was strange and exciting. It seemed a lot better than making hats all day. Besides, she really did like Howl rather a lot. Things wouldn't be too unbearable, surely.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I stopped writing there, because I don't actually want to re-write the entire novel.


End file.
